Springhaven: A Tale of the Great WarBlackmore, R. D. (Richard Doddridge)
History
Springhaven: A Tale of the Great War
Blackmore, R. D. (Richard Doddridge)
Great Britain -- History -- Regency, 1800-1837 -- Fiction
One of the dinners at the Darling Arms, and perhaps the most brilliant
and exciting of the whole, because even the waiters understood the
subject, was the entertainment given in the month of December, A.D.
1803, not only by the officers of two regiments quartered for the time
near Stonnington, but also by all the leading people round about those
parts, in celebration of the great work done by His Majesty's 38-gun
frigate Leda. Several smaller dinners had been consumed already, by way
of practice, both for the cooks and the waiters and the chairman, and
Mr. John Prater, who always stood behind him, with a napkin in one hand
and a corkscrew in the other, and his heart in the middle, ready either
to assuage or stimulate. As for the guests, it was always found that no
practice had been required.
“But now, but now”--as Mr. Prater said, when his wife pretended to make
nothing of it, for no other purpose than to aggravate him, because she
thought that he was making too much money, in proportion to what he was
giving her--“now we shall see what Springhaven can do for the good of
the Country and the glory of herself. Two bottles and a half a head is
the lowest that can be charged for, with the treble X outside, and the
punch to follow after. His lordship is the gentleman to keep the bottle
going.”
For the Lord-Lieutenant of the county, the popular Marquis of Southdown,
had promised to preside at this grand dinner; and everybody knew what
that meant. “Short tongue and long throat,” was his lordship's motto in
the discharge of all public business, and “Bottle to the gentleman on
my left!” was the practical form of his eulogies. In a small space like
this, there would be no chance for a sober-minded guest to escape his
searching eye, and Blyth Scudamore (appointed to represent the officers
of the Leda, and therefore the hero of the evening) felt as happy as a
dog being led to be drowned, in view of this liquid ordeal. For Blyth
was a temperate and moderate young man, neither such a savage as to turn
his wine to poison, nor yet so Anti-Christian as to turn it into water.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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